


Broken Clarity

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 07:19:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s taking longer and longer for you to find anything to throw back at him, so much so that you’ve been doubting your ability to have ever been able to do that in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Clarity

**Author's Note:**

> This is short enough to go into my ficlet collection, but I wanted to give it its own entry.

His words are bladed and cruel, and the sight of him - the real sight of him - is raw and stark. It used to be that his indigo smelt enough like red gone rancid that you hated it. When you were wigglers on Trollian and his text color sat and congealed in the back of your throat even while he was sweet and nonsensical in his sopor cloud.

You wish, now, that you could rhapsodise mentally on that offending shade, that you could sense the jagged edge of his highblood fury. You can’t, because your eyes are open and everything is vivid and sore. He doesn’t need to bruise you to know that he’s hurt you. That, in fact, is what’s so damning about him, now. Helpless rage can run against justice, but mediated cruelty says more than that.

You couldn’t have hated Gamzee so much if he was a frothing, wall-eyed ball of rage.

“That’s why justice is motherfucking blind, girl,” he drawled, before his teeth became just jagged points in his grin, and that was it. “And that’s why nothing you do won’t ever up and ever be meaning motherfucking anything.”

You used to argue and push against him, but it’s got to the point where doing so makes you feel so exhausted. You were led to believe that a battle of wits was something to gain from. That you could shoot out a barb and bring your opponent down and that it should feel so good. But it’s taking longer and longer for you to find anything to throw back at him, so much so that you’ve been doubting your ability to have ever been able to do that in the first place.

You try, sometimes, to turn your mind round back to when you were children on Alternia. You struggle to tie the sweetly dense troll to who you knew him to be, now. You remember being surprised that he could build up your hive as skillfully as he had done so that you could play the game, and thankful that he had made sure to catch your hatching lusus in the kernelsprite. It’s jarring and feels as much like a different you as it does a different him.

Sometimes, you think it’s how it should be. He makes something dark boil in your gut and flips switches in your pan because he’s a challenge. You know that you are not a troll who cannot take a challenge. You enjoy your claws in his skin and his in yours, and it feels good to be inside him and to consume him. When you fuck him, you hate him and want him so gloriously that you could disappear into him and break him from there.

Any way that it is, you loathe him, but he’s hooked himself inside your mind.


End file.
